The Lover Who Was Always There
by Ayoshen
Summary: Emma decides to take the queen out for a ride in the enchanted forest, where magic happens. Also, Applejack returns!
1. The Lover Who Was Always There

**The Lover Who Was Always There**

"This _thing_ despises me," Regina grumbles. She's careful to keep both Emma and her god forsaken horse at an arm's length, unable to comprehend why her wife would even suggest such a preposterous idea.

Surely enough, she is right as always, because the _thing_ snorts and rears up at her remark - then its hooves stomp the ground with an unforeseen force, making the leaves crumble and huddle aside.

"Calm down, I know she can be a real pain in the ass at times, but I like her either way," the blonde mumbles.

"I can't imagine why."

"I wasn't talking to _you,_" scoffs Emma, stroking the horse's forehead down to its nostrils in a soothing motion. She can't help but grin at Regina's discomfort. Taking her out on a ride must be by far the best way to pass the time - which, it seems, is of infinite supply in fairytales, so much it's obnoxious - she's thought of so far. Well, saying it was her idea would be partially unfair. However, she would never disclose it to Regina that the whole soon-to-be written tale was born in Henry's innocent mind. 'She seems grumpy lately. Take her out for a ride, somewhere no one will disturb you, somewhere she doesn't have to work all the time,' he said. 'It will be fun,' he said. That boy is much more clever than she used to give him credit for.

"_This_ is not a thing, but my lovely furry friend who would approve of some appreciation," Emma continues and Regina isn't sure whether the blonde is mocking her deliberately or just too busy focusing her attention on Regina's future dinner. She hears horse is very tasty, although quite thick. Well, certainly a healthy, agile mare like Applejack wouldn't prove to be too difficult to eat! Suddenly, the mental image of horse crunchy ribs on the round table is replaced by the actual image of Emma jumping up, swinging her leg over the saddle and holding her hand out to her. "Now, hop on," she says, entirely too serious for Regina's liking.

"Not in a million years! It — _she_ wants to kill me!"

"And I realize the heart-warming affection is mutual," Emma mocks, "But she won't do anything as long as I'm up here. And neither will you, for that matter. Now, _up._"

Regina shakes her head and wraps her arms around herself defensively. "I don't ride with a saddle," she murmurs, eyes fixated on dark mane she would very much like to set on fire and relishes in the knowledge she can do so at any moment until she realizes that her soul be damned, Emma has already forgiven her more than she deserved - no part of her forgiveness was well aimed, in fact - and she_ really likes that horse._

Emma's concern, on the other hand, is an all too different matter. The blonde tilts her head, letting her outstretched arm drop to her side, oblivious to the skip of a beat Regina's heart makes at that simple action. It is true; she has never seen Regina handle a saddle, but she never asked about her reasons. She supposes she should have, but instead settles for a faint "I got rid of the stirrups for you at least," hoping it will do. Which is all she's ever done, really, just hoping what she does is enough. Hasn't failed her yet, though.

"That'll have to do then," Regina replies and lets herself be pulled up, but Emma can tell from the way the brunette struggles with keeping the corners of her lips down that she's managed to move her. She isn't quite sure why - a saddle is just a saddle and stirrups are just stirrups - but the doubts leave her head when Regina sits in front of her and takes a hold of the reins.

"Where to?"

Emma shamelessly abuses the opportunity to sneak her arms around her lover's waist and pull her impossibly close so that she can rest her forehead on Regina's shoulder. "Away."

"What if we don't find our way back?"

"Is there ever a way back?" Emma inquires with a playful raise of her eyebrows that lets those adorable wrinkles appear on her forehead.

Regina chuckles and sighs as she bids the horse to walk and then gallop right off. The things Emma says, the things Emma does; sometimes it seems wrong for her to question them and sometimes (usually at once) she wonders whether her sanity will pay the price for trusting this person who can't even give her a straight answer. She frowns as they pass the castle gates and ride off into the forest, its autumn coat complementing their brownish attires and Applejack's dark fur quite nicely. In fact, it all fits together nicely, too nicely. The road she's taking leads to a village she used to visit often as a young princess, back when Daniel's parents lived there.

Regina tugs at the reins violently, forcing Applejack to turn to the right at the fork in the road, and orders the horse to run as fast as it possibly can because Emma is right. There is no way back.

It is only who knows how long later, when the endless yellowy sky made of branches becomes a wide expanse, that of a forgotten, lone glade in the middle of the woods, where the sun can warm her skin freely, that she realizes her knuckles are pale as snow and her own nails have dug little holes in her palms. She pulls the reins towards her and Applejack finally slows down to a reasonable pace, very much grateful for this moment of peace.

"Wow, someone's eager to obey my _commahnds,_" Emma whispers in a voice that clearly mocks the 'fairytale' accent she hasn't yet grown accustomed to, lips gently grazing the queen's earlobe, and grins impishly when she hears Regina's breathing hitch.

"I still don't understand why I couldn't just take Nightingale. He can last much longer than this… horse of yours, too."

In response to which Emma's grip on her waist tightens even more for a second before one hand runs up Regina's side, clawing at the decorative buttons on her shirt, bypasses the brunette's arm and lands on her chest, languidly slipping underneath the bothersome piece of clothing, and when shivers run down Regina's spine, it's not because of the slightly chilly temperature. "Because then I wouldn't get to hold you like this and those two would be too busy getting all lovey-dovey-ogly horse-style to carry us anywhere," Emma answers with a gentle squeeze of the other woman's breast.

"Oh, I see what this is about," Regina chokes, the authoritarian tone she planned to put to action betrayed by her own hum of approval. "Dear, we're going to end up soaked to the bone in a lake somewhere if I don't watch where I'm going."

"Uhmmm," Emma mumbles in what sounds very much like dismissal and Regina would express her opinion on that attitude clearly but for reasons that may or may not have something to do with Emma's other hand pulling her shirt up and caressing her stomach, she… What was she going to do, now? "Don't worry, I'm paying attention."

"If you wanted to have me, all you had to do was ask. No need for such nasty plots."

"You'll be grateful for that saddle yet," Emma smiles against the brunette's neck before kissing that one spot behind her ear and — oh no no no no no. Emma Swan does in absolutely no way whatsoever have her wet already. On a horse. In a glade. Far away from anything even remotely resembling a bed (or a chair, table, pillar, tree, bench, throne, dungeon…).

Far, far away…

"Relax, will you? You've been so tense lately that Orpheus's lyre is jealous of you," Emma says, and for a moment it sounds like she's forgotten where she is and what exactly she's doing. "I'm worried about you."

"It's just because of the wedding arrangements and," Regina rambles while Emma's fingers toy with the rim of her leather pants, "I have to figure out a way for Henry's legal standing to assure he will be crowned king and," Emma's fingers disappear behind the now unbuttoned front, "I have a kingdom to — ohhh god," she moans when she feels Emma's hand bury in her curls.

"There's time enough for all of that and I prefer Emma, Your Majesty," the blonde whispers deliberately slowly to let the point sink in while she strokes up and down Regina's abdomen, never quite reaching the goal Regina wants for her to reach, always retreating just half a second too early. "By the way, you should probably let go of the reins," she adds and the brunette happily complies, letting them drop and hang on the pommel, too lost in the warm sensation spreading through her lower body like a lava plume to remind herself she should probably do anything but that.

Breasts pressed firmly against her back, the queen lets out what could be classified as a whimper by someone who doesn't value their head being on their shoulders when Emma's thumb and forefinger close around her nipple and twist it into a hard little nub. "Emma—"

"Do you like this?" The blonde interrupts her mid-groan.

Regina throws her head back, giving Emma a perfect opportunity to pepper kisses on her neck, and so it is done. Emma's movements are perfectly in sync and she more than knows the answer, but she needs to hear it. One kiss, on Regina's clavicle, to soothe. Second, where neck meets shoulder, to mark. Third, where blood bois with excitement in her veins, to seduce into submission.

"Tell me."

Fourth, just below the brunette's ear, to stress a point. At the same moment, the hand currently occupying Regina's pants finally strolls low enough and fingers brush against her clit.

"Emma—" Regina growls in warning, signaling she will not be teased, but Emma has been playing this game long enough to recognize this only means Regina needs to be broken some more.

Fifth, on her earlobe, for the lover Emma knows will never return and the lover she is said to replace.

"Do you like this?"

Her thumb and index finger press down on Regina's clit, making the queen cry out softly like she is nothing more than a common girl, equal to all the other girls Emma has made writhe and moan and come, back home, but whom she has never loved.

Sixth, on the flushed cheek that turns to her, for the lover who was supposed to remain a secret, but the lover who she knows is the true 'wedding arrangements' and 'legal standing' and 'kingdom to run'. The lover who was never been here and the lover who has never left.

"Please," Emma says as she keeps squeezing in a regular rhythm. Regina's hips buck forwards to find nothing but the saddle and unrelenting pressure in just the right spot.

Seventh, on the corner of Regina's mouth while her eyes are closed and her breathing grows labored, for the undivided love in the heart she's giving the brunette in her arms.

"Do you love me?"

The lover who can't leave.

Regina's eyes snap open when she registers the subtle hint of pain in her lover's voice and she wants to face her but _goddamnit those skilful fingers on her_ and she's holding onto Emma's arm for support when Emma's thumb slams down on her clit, and she calls out her lover's name, covering the hand that just made her fall apart with her own so that it may never end, and a flock of birds ascends from a circle of oaks nearby, flying away into oblivion.

It's minutes of heavy breaths and sweat later that Regina finds herself half-sitting, half-lying in Emma's lap, and realization dawns on her. "Emma, I love you with all I am," she whispers just loud enough for her lover to hear but not for the forest to know her secrets. "You know that, don't you?"

A lump in Emma's throat - and a stone in her heart - prevent her from speaking for a minute as she strokes Regina's long obsidian locks and buttons her pants again. The concern tugs at her heartstrings. Regina wants her to know how much she loves her and that alone makes tears well up in Emma's eyes. Her mouth goes dry but she brings herself to say, her voice faltering over such an easy syllable, "Yes."

Eighth, on Regina's temple, for her lover's name that she cried out instead of Emma's, and the stab in her chest is the final straw for the tears to spill. Applejack neighs, but its nothing more than voicing of solidarity.

"I love you too."


	2. Operation Scarlet Kingsnake

**A/N: **I was requested to do a continuation of this on a happier note and was only too happy to comply. Just not yet. *cough* No, this is Henry being an adorable little booger (which I will always call him so there's that).**  
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**Chapter 2: Operation Scarlet Kingsnake**

Children are so free and unburdened by the chaos around them. Unburdened by magic. Emma envies them, Henry especially when he runs in the hallways and the fields and the woods and he's home and he's happy and she watches him, forcing herself repeatedly to swallow the lump in her throat and smile for him, like in the old times.

He's raising a griffin now. (What? There aren't many puppies around Regina's castle, contrary to popular belief.) She wasn't there when it hatched, took its first step, got a name; she wasn't there for either of them when any of these miracles happened. At least she could blame herself a little less now that she's there when they learn to fly.

"Emma, Emma, did you see that?" the boy beams, ruffling the feather's on the half-eagle, half-lion's neck. The two have just jumped over an artificial obstacle and successfully risen several feet into the air before tumbling back to the ground - safely, even if a little clumsily. Baby steps.

"Sure thing, kid. You'll be racing with me and Applejack in no time," she smiles, offering the griffin a dead mouse and Henry a pat on the leg (because his head happens to be kind of out of reach - my god, cubs grow fast these days). (Words cannot describe the relief she felt when she found out that 'Falcoa' had not inherited his feline half's appetite.) When he doesn't smile in return, Emma frowns. "What is it?"

She knows what it is; Henry knows. Damn that kid for being a clairvoyant little booger. She's helpless against his weapons of mass deduction when Henry sees the smile on her lips but there is none in her eyes; there's nothing, only a dull green expanse devoid of life. "Why are you sad, mom?"

Ah crap ah crap ah crap. He's been saving the M-word for a rainy day - and she doesn't object because that's the system they've gotten used to and if anything ever happens, she becomes mom in an instant, like now. "I'm not, kid. I'm happy for you, really," she says and if she's bequeathed him any portion of her superpowers, he'll know she's being sincere. Emma regrets not being able to see the newfound friendship develop, but she's here now, she's helping him, she's supervising him, she's determined to stand by his side as he takes the first flap of the wings (and hide it from Regina, at least until she can be sure she won't rip her head off for letting Henry be the stubborn adventurous brat he is, just like his mothers). That counts, doesn't it?

Of course it does. Yet there's a scarlet kingsnake constricting her chest, threatening to squeeze a little too tightly at any moment. It's whispering words of encouragement in her ears, but it's all just deceit to make her suspect less. So Emma stays on guard. All day. All night. All the time.

Henry jumps off the griffin - not without stumbling, but he regains his balance as Emma merely starts to reach out to him - scowls for a moment the adorable way he does it as if in deep thought and then mumbles a private something to Falcoa, who then playfully pokes his finger with its beak (and Emma's heart skips a beat) before running off to chase whatever poor vertebrate is close. "It's mom, isn't it?" he asks and now it's clear whom he's referring to. "Are you two fighting again?"

Emma's heart cracks some more when she sees the unrestrained worry emanating from him. "No, nothing like that, sweetie," she answers, pulling him into a hug. Henry is still not tall enough to wrap his arms anywhere higher than her waist and even that takes effort. His head bumps into her stomach and almost makes her trip, like Henry's bear hugs tend to do.

"I don't want you to fight. She loves you, so why aren't you happy?"

Children. So unburdened by the sad reality things are so much more complicated than that. 'She loves you and you love her that means you are both happy.' It's true, too, and the snake wrapped around her heart hugs its tail. "Of course she does," she chokes, never letting the boy go so that he can't see the tears welling up in her eyes.

"Em-muuh! I know you're troubled; I can tell. You can hide it from mom, but not from me," he says, disentangling himself from her arms. "I know you don't believe me."

"I believe—"

"Because it doesn't look like that. But remember when everyone thought Snow White was a murderer, even grandpa? All the evidence pointed to her. You made them see the truth."

"The truth that Regina was behind it." So much for comfortable topics of discussion.

"Well, yes, but that's not the point!" He throws up his arms in exasperation, frustrated with the common adult inability to understand such simple things, and he hopes he will never grow up to that level of dumminess. A break cannot be caught, can it? He's going to call this one Operation Scarlet Kingsnake, that's what he's going to do. "I'm asking you to decide whether you believe the evidence, or the one you spend the nights with. I'm asking you to be you." There. That'll teach her.

Sigh. He's growing up. And he already knows too much. "Henry… The problem is that in this case, the evidence points to exactly what you're saying. It's just…" she pauses, thinking of a good way to phrase the fact that now she has proof, just not faith. "I guess I'll always have trouble believing."

No. Unacceptable. That is so not okay. He doesn't press the matter further; he has learned that with Emma, it is wiser to wait. But a little nudge in the right direction can never hurt, which is what's next on the list of Operation Scarlet Kingsnake. After he's tucked Falcoa in for his afternoon nap (he's still a baby, after all) and made sure his friend can't hurt himself, he runs off to look for his momma. He finds her in the common room, reading some kind of a scroll by the campfire. Making a mental note to ask about _that_ later, he proceeds to run at full speed and assault Regina's lap with a mighty _thud_.

"Henry!" Regina yells, caught completely off-guard, as she tries to salvage what now remains of the scroll he so effortlessly crumbled with his weight. She immediately goes into educating mode, lecturing him on how he's a prince and he's not to run and behave like a spoiled child, and he must certainly learn to express his affection in a more mature way—

Speaking of which, Henry thinks this is the perfect point to interrupt. "Do you love Emma?"

That seems to be the most common question these days for some reason, as if no one had better things to talk about. "Of course I love Emma," she shakes her head, still trying to straighten out the poor piece of parchment.

"Mom!"

Regina falls silent, noting the urgency in her son's voice. He adjusts himself on her lap so that she has no choice but pay attention to him - and you know he's serious when he does that.

"Emma is sad because she thinks you don't love her."

"Henry, that is ridiculous. _I told her-_"

"I know, I know!" Adults! Why do they feel the need to repeat everything multiple times as if the point didn't get across the first one? Then again, apparently they need to hear it if Emma's having doubts. Maybe adulthood is like a degenerative disease or something. "She just doesn't believe. It's like the curse; she can't see it. We have to help her see it!"

Regina licks her lips and glances down at the swan necklace on his neck - the one Emma gave him when they arrived here. Back when she thought she knew Emma. Her throat goes dry and her voice quivers as she speaks. "How do you know all this?"

"The real question is, why can't you see it too?"

Oh dear lord. Maybe mom is sick too. Maybe she can't see Emma's sad in the same way Emma can't see how much she's loved. Oh lord no. That must be it; he's figured it out.

The boy gets this look of a divine epiphany like he always does when he's up to no good - and then he leaps off Regina, trips, stumbles, falls with a "woah!", gets back up before Regina can even blink and runs off, ignoring the scolding tone his mother is calling him in.

"Henry!"

No, no, no. This operation requires a new, delicate plan. He runs up the stairway, across the hall, down the corridor over a bright red carpet — and then, suddenly, he stops when he hears what he hears. Oh no. He must act fast. A mischievous grin forms on his face at the same time the plan does in his mind. He knows exactly what to do and he's going to do it right here, right now.

Regina's walking through the gardens, alone, under her apple tree, contemplating Henry's words, when a piece of paper falls from the branches. Frowning, she picks it up to inspect it.

_If you ever want to see your son again, go to the third floor via the northern stairway._

Regina rolls her eyes. The crooked, slanted (and not in the elegant way) handwriting cannot possibly belong to someone older than the age of twelve. But she can play his games, if it's so important to him. She can play along. "Oh no, they have kidnapped my son! What shall I do? I'd better do exactly as this letter says!" she exclaims melodramatically to no one in particular before making her way to the third floor. It's far, so it had better be worth it or her son is so grounded.

_In the third chamber to the left, a package will be waiting for you. The password is 'Falcoa'. With an A._

Ugh, fine, a chain letter it is. To the third chamber, then, she grumbles.

"Password!" a weirdly deep voice echoes throughout the chamber which is James's guest room when he and Snow visit. It's clean and pure and full of light colored furniture, just like them. She lets out a puff of air through her nostrils. Family reunions have never been so much fun.

"Henry, enough. What is it?"

"_Password!"_

Regina purses her lips. "Falcoa."

"How do you spell it?"

"With an A. Now what is it?"

A tiny hand emerges from under the decorative cloth-covered table, clutching yet another letter. Regina takes it with a furrowing of her brow and the hand swiftly disappears back behind the cloth.

_You will get your son back if you go to your queen's chamber. There you will find the last clue. Good luck._

She's just about to call him out when Henry roars in his hiding spot in the blatantly fake but strangely adorable marauder-like voice. "Now, Regina."

The brunette's mouth hangs open at the use of her name. Henry has never called her Regina yet and for a moment, a flash of fear runs through her, frightened of what this might mean because she remembers when she started calling her mother by her first name. She shakes her head; she's thinking too much of it. Instead she exits James's room (and gladly at that) and goes further down the hallway, passing stone cold gargoyles and columns of fire, and unfittingly, paintings. (Emma wanted to turn the place upside down and this was the only concession Regina was willing to make so far.)

Her legs freeze when she reaches Emma's door, refusing to carry her any further. Regina listens, coldness seemingly seeping through her toes up her body and her chest, grasping at it like the tail of a scarlet kingsnake. Then it sinks its fangs into her heart as she peeks in through the slight gap between the frames of the door.

"It hurts every time," she hears her savior cry.


	3. Rain

**A/N:** Whew, sorry for not writing anything for so long and leaving several ongoing stories unfinished. I got a little caught up in videogames this past month. And by a little caught up I mean I have pretty much done nothing productive all month besides playing Kingdom Hearts. In any case, I will try to repay my debt now, and this fic is the first one to go.

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**Chapter 3: Rain**

"Every time we… she says his name, it's like she stabs me in the back and doesn't even realize it."

"So you feel… jealous? Betrayed?"

The Queen stands frozen, her hand resting on the doorframe. The sobbing voice that first caught her attention is accompanied by another, chirping, questioning without pause. A myriad of options runs through her mind; what is Jiminy doing here, so far from his _masters_ – she scoffs in disdain – and who are they talking about if not her? Perhaps it is Ruby, with whom Emma has developed a partnership in hunt, so to speak; or the purest of them all herself, who speaks of, say, Rumpelstiltskin their enemy, with impunity; whatever the case, Regina doesn't make Emma feel jealous or betrayed, gods forbid both. She knows so with certainty and pride unshakable by a thousand exploding suns. Emma is her queen, her knight, her—

"No—Yes—I don't know!" Emma's voice gains in amplitude what it has lost in its usual hardiness and Regina can hear something fragile, porcelain, like bones of a baby hawk, shattering against the wall. A bed creaks loudly, crying out in pain under new, heavy weight. Then there's her greatest fear, a whimper she has never heard before in her life, born not of pleasure but of a fang in a coronary artery entangling Emma's heart.

"Emma—you've been here for a while, but that's nothing compared to your life in the other world. Is it possible that all this seems so unreal to you that you would fumble about in the darkness for a shred of reality?"

There's an unspoken warning and sudden apprehension that cuts through flesh and blood straight to the core, leaving a gaping canyon in its wake. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that maybe you're so caught up in these from your perspective unreal experiences that you're subconsciously trying to hang on to real, tangible problems, problems that you are familiar with from your childhood and adolescence."

"I'm not making this up!" And she's like ball lightning – raging amidst a sea of ionized, ominous clouds, just waiting to explode. It's terrifying, even more so in its inexplicability.

"I never said you were," Jiminy chirps in panic and an attempt to somehow convince the lightning to change its direction. Judging by the way his tone takes a sharp detour upwards before descending quickly, he's probably envisioning himself being squished the life out of by Emma's fist – which could as well happen. "Of course not! I just think you might be overreacting—"

"With all due respect, Archie, I didn't ask for your help to be judged."

"It's Jiminy, and—"

Emma has called for Jiminy to help. Emma has called for Jiminy to help. Regina's head is spinning; she tries to remember the last time such an occurrence was needed. Back in Storybrooke, back during the first war, when there was no one to turn to in the empty chasm between good and evil, knowing that her family stood divided on both sides, she asked for help. Never since. "Enough! What is the meaning of this?" The door bursts open in an unnatural gust of wind that could only stem from magic. The scene opens itself in front of her; Jiminy being swatted away, Emma jumping up in a way strangely reminiscent of the popular children's game _the floor is lava_ that Henry is so fond of and broken pieces of a vase observing the hassle quietly from the corner.

"How long have you been standing there?" Emma squeaks while Jiminy's feelers disappear behind his umbrella. Not that it's raining in here, but the cricket sure wishes it were.

"Excuse us," Regina says sternly to Jiminy so that it's clear there is no other option for him, if he intends to stay in one piece – which he very much does, thank you, sir – so he wastes no time in heading straight for the door awkwardly, almost tripping over his own wings when he realizes what he must have unintentionally started.

"It's not his fault—"

"_Out!"_

"_Listen to me—"_

But Jiminy blocks out the rest of the conversation as he hurries down the hallway, clinging to his little suitcase. Unsure what he's frightened of (as murderous as Regina looks, she does owe him and he knows her anger is mainly directed at her own insecurities), he bumps head first into something tall, walking—

"Jiminy?" Henry whimpers, cradling the bug in tiny hands, his eyes glistening with tears. Ever the prince, he asks the most polite and most irrelevant question. "Are you okay?"

Jiminy looks him up and down when he's gotten back to his feet and brushed particles of dust off of himself. How long has the poor child been eavesdropping, too?

"_May I ask what on Earth possessed you to invite your parents' lackey over to _my_ castle without telling me?"_

"_Don't talk about him this way! And suddenly it's _your _castle. It's always been _your _castle, hasn't it? I'm just a temporary guest in _your _castle, aren't I?"_

"_Did Snow White talk to you again? You don't believe her lies, do you?"_

"_That's my mother you're talking about! And she has nothing to do with this!"_

Jiminy bumps into the boy again – this time on purpose – trying to get him to move towards the stairway. It's enough that this is happening; he doesn't need to hear it, especially when they're not even aware of his presence, or so he hopes. He has, however, enough sense to know they wouldn't keep this up any longer if they did know, and for a moment he ponders the idea of telling them (or screaming at them over their own choir of yelling). Then again, what good would that do? "I'm fine, Henry, but this isn't a good time, okay? We should wait in the gardens. Come on, boy."

"I didn't want them to fight," Henry confesses as he strolls down the stairway, staring at the steps.

Ah, Jiminy connects the dots, he must have been behind their sudden visit. He sighs, settling on the boy's shoulder mid-stride and patting it. "I know, child. Neither did I. But your moms need to talk about some things right now, and their way is just a little different from what you imagined." He guides the boy outside, but Henry is in no mood to play games right now.

"Would you stop getting defensive?" Regina yells, the goblet of her patience having overflowed several minutes ago. Why, just this morning, Emma was repeating how much she loved her over and over in their bed, cheeks flushed and palms sweaty. Just how quickly can the heart change? Just how fast can she run? Or a more appropriate question would be – is she faster than the hands trying to hold her in place? Regina purses her lips and lets her insides twist in her chest, unable to admit to herself that she's helpless to stop it.

"I'm not being defensive!" Emma retorts. "You're the one who barged in here like my conversation was any of your business!"

They're both standing on tiptoe in front of each other, arms slightly outstretched, eyes firmly locked, and Regina wonders why this habit had stuck, why they still, after all they've been through, act like they're going to pull out a sword or throw a fireball in the other's direction at any second when they're fighting. She would guess it's what they're biologically designed to be, but that would be too easy. Regina has never been the one to give in to something just because it's 'what fate wants to happen'; when Snow married the Prince, when Emma was her enemy, when Emma was her lover. "Something's troubling you so I _made it_ my business," she hisses. "And for your information, our son insisted I listen." Her eyes dart towards the door momentarily in a way that few people would register, but it's more than enough for Emma's hunter's instinct to kick in and send her running for the door.

"Henry—"

There's that gust of wind again, like a hurricane in a bottle, only bound by an invisible wall, and the door slams shut.

Emma snaps her head to Regina's back, her eyes blaring with a newly ignited spark to replace the one that died out when her son was mentioned. "These tricks of yours can be really annoying, you know that?"

"Oh? I seem to recall you enjoying my _tricks_ immensely the other night. What's next? My dresses can be really annoying?"

"Now who's being defensive?"

A pause interrupts their bickering, leaving both women to reflect on their actions and the subtle sting of discharged electricity in the air to settle down. Regina exhibits no effort to look at her queen; instead she listens to the silence that envelops the two, only cracked and forced open by the blonde's growl that announces Emma's given up on arguing. She would find time and again that Regina always wins in some way. And Regina waits for the growl to quiet down, imagines Emma's face tilting to the side in defeat but shooting her back one last defiant look as in, _'You're impossible to deal with'_.

"Henry said…" No, this is wrong. Henry's already involved in this situation more than is healthy. She doesn't want to – she'd rather crawl over broken glass – but desperate times call for desperate measures. Is this a desperate enough time? Her eyes are watering and she bites her lip and blinks it away. Mask on. Her next words are barely above a whisper. "Emma, no matter what you think – no matter what anyone tells you–" She steals a sideways glance at her lover, terrified to see the anger in her eyes, "—I _do_ love you."

Chuckling humorlessly – a strained, cacophonous sound – Emma shakes her head. "You told me yourself. Doesn't get much clearer than that."

"What are you talking about?"

It should sound like mocking; it should be obvious Regina is and has been cruelly cutting through her gut since day one, but it's not. Instead there's only confusion, as one would expect, as Archie did, but Emma's determination doesn't falter. "_'Daniel.'_"

_The cold is relentless. It is on nights like these that the implications of what they've lost of the other world fully sink in as the wind howls on and on, laughing at their helplessness in its shadow. It's not alone, either; miniature sculptures of ice, thousands of them, its faithful minions, descend upon the kingdom of the living and the weak. It is then that the Queen, half asleep, clinging to the body pressed up against her own for warmth, mumbles his name in her storm-clouded dreams._

_Daniel._

Regina's mouth hangs open and she quickly covers it with the palm of her hand, eyes widening in horror as innumerable times she has unintentionally called out for past long gone in denial of the present. _'It hurts every time.'_ She wishes, and desperately so, that she had something to say in her defense, and struggles to find proof – any proof – of her innocence regarding a case that has long been closed. "Emma…"

"Don't bother, I get it."

"No, you don't." The brunette takes a deep breath and lets out a puff of air through her nostrils. Carefully, she walks up to her lover, but when she reaches to put a reassuring hand on her arm, Emma dodges the movement without so much as looking her in the eye, and Regina breaks a little more. "Do you remember what it used to be like when you were assembling a puzzle and you were only half done with it, but you already knew what the picture was going to look like, yet you looked for the remaining pieces anyway?"

Emma nods hesitantly, unsure of where this will lead.

"Daniel is a distant memory of mine that I've held onto for many, many years. Over time, he's… well, he's become like a scattered dream. Lately I've been finding pieces, hidden in you, pieces I thought were lost forever…"

Emma finally gathers the courage to look up. She expects to see the Queen in all her glory, disguised as the woman she's fallen for, but the resulting imagery is quite different. She sees a girl, a stranger who's barely come of age, but nonetheless a stranger who has seen and lived through centuries of what no one should ever bear. All this time tells a story in Regina's sorrowful eyes, and the three tears that spill over like the drumming rain that's started outside their door – the narrator.

"I never completed that puzzle," Regina whispers.

The next thing Emma knows is that she's wiping the tears away with the pads of her thumbs – as if that would ever help erase the cause of their birth – and the strange girl leans into the touch and grabs her wrist weakly, too young or perhaps just far too lonely to force it away. This strange girl closes her eyes for a long moment and when she opens them again, Emma finds she has run away, far behind the comforting blackness of Regina's irises. "It's coming back now because you remind me of him with this particularly irritating thing you never cease doing."

Hearing her own voice crack with frightened expectation, Emma frowns some more. "What thing?"

"You make me love you more than _anything _else in any world."

Jiminy's umbrella floats purposelessly above ruffled dark hair. Leaning against the bark of one of his mother's prized trees, Henry hugs his knees and rests her chin on them while the rain falls on both of them, not at all hindered by autumn leaves. He's been sitting here for almost an hour and Jiminy's attempts to humor him have all failed miserably. Eventually he gave up and instead started to focus on shielding the poor boy from the cold, lest an illness befalls him – but no luck followed him here, either. He has tried playing the conscience part, too. What would your mothers say if you got sick like this? Henry doesn't care – Good grief, mommy loves mama and mama loves mommy, what's the big idea? – and Jiminy is right in the middle of contemplating a drastic career change when two blankets assault the two stowaways viciously and without warning. (Though to be fair, Jiminy's is a napkin. Regina will have to settle that later.)

"And with that, I suggest it's time for a cup of tea for both of you," says Emma softly, wrapping the napkin/blanket tighter around the cricket, who appears to be frozen up to the feelers.

"No," Henry shakes his head in protest, "You yelled at each other."

Regina sighs, bending over to cup his cheek. "Yes, we yelled. We were angry, and we're sorry. But does it look like we're about to start again?"

The boy looks them up and down, pondering the question. Indeed, mommy and mama look pretty calm, happy even – except for their apparent disapproval of their son sulking soaked to the bone – but adults are weird. You can never trust adults, especially moms. Moms are even worse. Moms are like witches. At one moment, they have sweets and biscuits and storybooks and the other? Poof! Fire-breathing dragons! He shudders at the thought. "Pinky promise?"

Both women look at each other with a smile tugging at their lips before they kneel and each reaches for one of Henry's hands, intertwining their pinkies together. "Pinky promise," Emma nods.

Glad that he could help but missing the rest of his friends, Snow White and the Prince and the dwarves, Jiminy takes his umbrella from where it sits by the fireplace, says goodbye and gets ready to depart. Emma thanks him for all three of them, because let's face it – it was thanks to Jiminy that she even voiced her thoughts for Regina to hear. At your service, queen Emma. Anytime you require my assistance, queen Emma. This new collocation is quite pleasant to wrap your tongue around, actually, if only just to see the woman in question scowl. Queen Emma, heh!

Henry follows him up to the gates until he admits it is time to bid him farewell. "But what if they start fighting again?" he asks, worry evident in his expression, and Jiminy can't blame him for it.

He recalls the moment from several hours before, when he flew up to the castle tower – not very professional, he knows, but to be fair, Henry made him do it! And you try resisting when you're the size of a fat caterpillar and have a crying kid on your hands, or vice versa, to be more accurate. He remembers what he saw – and he has to, because for crying out loud, he would never in his life believe anyone who would tell him so – the tears running down Regina's cheeks, her shaking lips, her hand clutching Emma's wrist, the soft sobs visibly wrecking her body, and what came after; the kiss born of true love to break a curse of the Queen's own. He remembers that while he could hear nothing but raindrops bruising his umbrella, he could clearly see the Queen say one word and one word only – and it wasn't Daniel. "They won't, at least not for a good long while, Henry. You trust me on that," he chirps encouragingly, flies up to pat Henry on the forehead in that crickety way of his, and turns to leave.

"But if they do, you'll come back, right?"

"Always. What else would I be here for?"

* * *

**A/N:** Well, this is it, ladies and gays. Hope you enjoyed the ride and reviews are like food. :)


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